


Confessions

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Caring!Egon, Egon is so done with Peter's shit, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, peter!whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: Peter has a date that goes very very badly, resulting in him returning to the firehouse at 3 in the morning nursing bruises and more than a few scrapes, and limping. After a hot shower he falls into bed, presumably unnoticed. He was wrong. The next day a seemingly easy bust with a class 4 goes wrong, re-aggravating his injuries from the previous day. Egon notes that what he sustained on the bust shouldn’t have the effects peter is showing, so corners him in the bathroom while the other man is trying to patch himself up. Confessions ensue.





	Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> So with two minutes to spare I realized April had completely escaped me. Gotta love finals week! I don't think I've known what day it was in three weeks now. =D Enjoy!

It was well after three in the morning when a dark figure slipped through the doors of the firehouse. They paused by a closet just inside, the label on it reading  _ Venkman, P.  _ Bracing himself against the door, the figure pulled off his shoes, leaving them just inside the closet door so as not to make any unnecessary noise as he made his way up the stairs, heavily favoring his left leg. Making it to the top of the stairs, he shuffled his way into the bedroom where three men and a floating green ectoplasmic entity slumbered. Avoiding the squeaky places in the floor with the skill born of practice, he made his way to his portion of the communal closet to grab pajamas and clean boxers before slowly heading for the bathroom; making sure the door was closed tight before he even dared turn on the light. Even after avoiding looking into the mirror as he stripped out of his hastily redressed clothing, he couldn’t suppress the hiss that escaped his mouth as the scalding hot water fell on no small number of scrapes and bruises that littered his body. Pushing aside the pain, he reached for a washcloth and bar of soap, determined to scrub away any evidence of the night’s occurrences. 

 

Shower complete, he stepped out and toweled off, taking a moment to survey himself now that he was clean. His skin was a shade of raw pink from where he’d scrubbed and littered in bruises and scratches, fingers tracing over a large one that had bloomed across his ribcage, and another near his groin that was suspiciously hand shaped. One much larger than his own. There were raw rings around his wrists and ankles, and he just knew the next day would be a long sleeved shirt day. Shuddering at the memories, he quickly pulled on the clean clothing, shut off the light, and made his way to his bed. Falling into it and pulling the blankets up over his shoulders, he afforded himself a small smile. He’d made it through unnoticed. The others were probably unaware that he’d even been gone. His eyes drifted shut as he succumbed to exhaustion, dreading the alarm that would come much too early in the morning. 

 

Just across the room, a pair of eyes watched the slowing rise and fall of the other’s chest. They’d seen the figure’s entrance and noted the limp. Satisfied that the newcomer was now fast asleep, the watcher let his own eyes drift shut. 

* * *

  
  


The ringing of their alarm echoed through the room, pulling everyone from their respective slumbers. Everyone that is, except their resident psychologist, who was stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow. The only part of him visible was the top of his tousled brown hair. “Hey Peter!” Ray called, coming closer. “Come on, Peter! Wake up! We have a bust in an hour!” When the lump didn’t move, the ginger came to the edge of the bed, reaching down to shake a blanket covered shoulder. “Come on, Peter!” at the first touch of the younger man’s hand, the brunet was up with a start, blinking blearily in the bright room as his eyes fought to adjust. “Huh? Oh, hey Ray. What’s up?” Ray sighed, arms perching on striped hips. “Peter, it’s time to get up! Don’t you remember we have an appointment with a Class Three in Queens in an hour?” 

 

Peter nodded, pushing himself out of the bed and reaching for the pants Egon had offered out. “Yeah, Ray. I remember.” Pants in hand, he stopped by the closet for a sweatshirt, grateful it was the middle of January and he could get away with wearing it without the risk of odd looks before heading back into the bathroom, stifling a yawn against his arm. He didn’t see the concerned looks he was receiving from a certain blond as he limped into the tile floored room, reemerging a few minutes fully dressed and looking a bit more awake then he had. “Come on, guys,” he addressed the other occupants, cheery grin on his face. “Let’s go kick some ecto-butt!” 

 

* * *

 

They made it to Queens in record time, marginally due to the fact that Ray was driving. Peter was stretched out in the back seat, dozing off and on during the ride. Egon sat in back with him while Winston and Slimer sat up front with Ray, and he caught the blond giving him the occasional strange look, like Peter was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. The look made the man in question slightly uncomfortable, but he shrugged the feeling away, chalking it up to paranoia from too little sleep and closing his eyes again, trying to catch a few more minutes before they arrived. 

 

The call had come in yesterday from a rocking chair warehouse. Evidently a Class Three had turned up about a week ago. At first it had just been the usual; flickering lights, testing out rocking chairs, typical anonymous haunting tactics. At first they’d thought maybe it was faulty wiring and drafts, but then they’d seen it. It was a female apparition, somewhere in her early thirties and dressed in white. She never spoke to any of them, never even acknowledged them; just sat in the rockers or floated around the ceiling or through the walls, occasionally making an appearance in the boss’s office. Perfectly benevolent. Until a couple days ago. Evidently the ghost hadn’t appreciated the fact that they did have to remove rockers from the warehouse when stores required new inventory and had quickly become violent. Two workers had already been hospitalized with injuries; one had been repairing one of the conveyor belts when it had suddenly turned on, pinning him between the gears. The other had had a pile of crates toppled on him as he’d been walking past on his way to lunch. That had been when the supervisor had decided it was time to call the ghostbusters. 

 

The supervisor was waiting for them when they arrived. “Thank you for coming. I’ve sent my employees home until we can get this matter resolved. She almost managed to hang another one just this morning with one of our pulley chains.” Peter shouldered a proton pack and gave the man a clap on the shoulder. “No worries, sir. The ghostbusters are on the case. We’ll bag this hag and be out of your hair before you can say senior citizens.” Barely sparing the other ghostbusters a glance, he marched into the building, proton gun at the ready. He could hear Ray talking to the supervisor behind him as he took in the interior of the warehouse. About 20 feet in height and 30 feet across, it was filled with conveyor belts, cranes, pulley systems, and crates of what he could only assume to be rocking chairs. In one corner, high up on a balcony connected to the rest of the building by catwalks and metal stairs was an office with a large bay window facing out over the warehouse. It was through this window that he caught a glimpse of movement. “Guys, I found her!” he shouted, not taking his eyes off the phantasm. She’d left the office and was making her way across the catwalks above him. In the quiet of the building he could hear her wailing softly. 

 

“Winston, grab a trap and come on. Egon and Ray, cover me! I’m going up!’ as he headed for the nearest staircase he heard Egon’s shouts of “Peter, wait!” but paid them no mind. Egon was always such a worrier. He took the stairs with a bit more caution than he normally would, leg protesting his every ascending step. As he made it to the first catwalk, he could see the feminine figure just ahead, staring off into the distance as she just hovered over the metal grating. “Um, excuse me ma’am, but we have a strict ‘no haunting’ rule here. It’s very rude to disobey it, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Very slowly, the spectre turned to face him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the rest of his team pouring in through the door, but he didn’t dare bring attention to them. If he could keep her attention on him, then they had a better chance of setting the trap and capturing her. 

 

She’d been pretty when she was alive. Her skin was pale and smooth and her dark hair framed her face in soft curls that stirred in a nonexistent wind. She cocked her head as she took him in, wailing dying down to a soft moaning until her eyes landed on the readied proton gun in his hands. Just like that, her lovely visage morphed into a thing of nightmares. Her face grew gaunt and skeletal, hollowing out her eye sockets save for a hellish red glow. Her hair greyed out, flying up around her face like some kind of living creature and her slender hands morphed into razor sharp talons. “Now, guys!” Peter yelled, taking aim with his gun, but before he could unleash the proton stream, he found himself flying back onto the metal walkway, shoulder striking painfully against the railing on his way down as grey mottled flesh tipped in yellowed claws reached for his throat. He fought to get away, but to no avail. She was in constant flux between solid and intangible, preventing him from being able to get purchase to push her away. 

 

“We can’t get a clear shot!” he heard Ray shouting, but before he could respond he was suddenly in the air, collar of his jumpsuit held tight in her grip as she dangled him several feet above the catwalk. “Uh, guys? Little help!” he yelled, legs kicking uselessly in the air as he attempted to dislodge himself. Her face was close and he could feel the putrid breath against his face. “Lady, I don’t mean to be rude, but you could  _ really  _ use a breath mint.” Evidently she took it as an insult, because her face contorted again, jaw unhinging like a snake as she howled in his face, shaking him violently before tossing him back down to the catwalk. Unfortunately, his momentum landed him on the edge of the stairs and he went tumbling before he could stop himself, resisting the urge to cry out in pain as the sharp edges of the stairs managed to find every single bruise he’d received the previous night. He met the concrete floor with a thud, all breath knocked from his lungs and leaving him curled up and gasping like a fish as he tried to refill his lungs, praying he hadn’t fractured his already bruised ribs. 

 

Above his head, he could hear her wails as the others took clear aim, capturing her in the proton streams while Slimer readied the trap. In a last attempt to break free, the ghost lashed out, sending a stack of crates directly above Peter teetering before they started to fall. Acting on a jolt of adrenaline, Peter managed to roll out of the way, putting the staircase between himself and the plummeting boxes. Hearing the snap of the trap as it shut and safe from any more crashing objects, Peter let his head fall to the ground with a groan. Yeah, that was going to hurt like a Gozer later. There was a warm sticky feeling starting to spread against his side, and he prayed his suit was dark enough to hide it until they got back and he could take care of it properly. “Peter! Are you okay?” Heavy footfalls vibrated through the concrete, getting closer as his friends called for him. Realizing they’d suspect something if he was still lying there when they found him, he pushed himself up with a silent gasp, biting back a wave of nausea as he climbed to shaky legs. Fixing a cocky grin to his lips, he limped out from behind the rubble. “Nice shooting, guys! But you couldn’t have done that  _ before _ she threw me down the stairs?” Winston chuckled, offering him a hand over the pile of slats and rocker parts that had busted from one of the crates. “Peter, you’re bleeding!” Ray said, voice full of worry. Peter froze, thinking he’d bled through his jumpsuit after all, when he realized Ray was motioning to his face. Reaching up a hand to his cheek, he was slightly surprised to find his fingers red when they came away. “Huh, must have been a bit of wood. I’m fine, Ray. Little bruised, but mostly to my pride. Let’s get going.”

 

Ray and Winston shrugged, starting for the doors with Slimer and the trap and leaving Peter to follow, but Egon paused a moment, studying Peter closely. It was then the brunet realized the blond hadn’t said a word to him all day. Usually he had some remark about Peter’s reckless habits, but he hadn’t said a word. “All good there, Spengs?” He asked, offering the blond what he hoped was an easy smile. After another moment of silence that made Peter feel uncomfortably exposed, the scientist nodded and turned back for the Ecto-1. Peter let out a breath, following his friends and trying not to wince at every step. 

* * *

  
  


Egon had been watching his friend all morning. He hid his injuries from the others well, and Egon suspected that if he hadn’t seen the the other man come back in last night, he might not have noticed it right away either. What he wouldn’t have failed to notice, however, was the way Peter was handling himself on his way back to the Ecto-1, the way he winced with every bump in the road, and the way his hand had unconsciously gone to his side first when Ray had mentioned he was bleeding. It didn’t take much of Egon’s brain power to hypothesize that the other man was hurt worse than he was letting on. 

 

Peter had eased his way out of the vehicle when they’d pulled back into the firehouse, waving off Ray’s questioning glances with a slightly breathy “I’m good. Go show the lady to her new accomodations. I’m just going to get changed and pop a few advil, maybe make a date for the couch with some ice packs.” As Ray headed for the containment unit and Winston headed out to grab lunch for them, Egon watched Peter make his pained way up the stairs, waiting for him to reach the top before following. He wanted to see what the other man would do before he confronted him, not wanting to have to deal with an injured man who made it his mission on a regular basis to dodge questions when concerned with his health. He took his time going up the stairs, pausing at the top to take off his shoes and jumpsuit before making his way to the bathroom in the slacks and shirt he’d had on underneath. 

* * *

 

The bathroom door was open a crack, light and the sound of running water trickling into the darkened room. As he neared, he heard hissed breaths and muffled swears. Peter was likely trying to treat his own injuries, which was always a bad idea and didn’t make Egon any less uneasy about the extent of the injuries his friends had sustained from the fall and previous sources unknown. Deciding surprise would be his best tactic, he pushed the door open, breath catching in his throat as he saw just what Peter was doing. The shorter man was bare to the waist, one arm raised above his head while the other dabbed awkwardly at a nasty looking gash just under the opposite ribcage. The rest of that side was covered in a bruise the color of an overripe plumb, and his wrists bore the still pink marks of bondage. Egon shifted to better take in the damage, noting that there were several fresh scrapes and scratches to his back along with some that couldn’t be older than a day, along with narrow, horizontal bruises that must have come from his fall down the stairs. The man in question stood frozen, eyes wide as he stared at Egon, the term “deer in the headlights” popping into Egon’s mind as he stepped into the small space, closing the door behind him. “Hello, Peter.”

 

“Uh..hey, Egon! You know, it’s rude to just barge in on someone when they’re in the bathroom…” Peter’s voice, already uneven in tone, faded out as the blond came forward, taking the wet cloth he’d been using to clean the gash and rewetting it, adding a little bit of hydrogen peroxide he pulled from under the sink. The injured man hissed when the cloth came into contact with the open wound, but he didn’t try to pull away. Instead he just stood there, jaw tight as he kept his focus on the faucet like it contained every answer he was looking for. “So you going to tell me what happened?” Egon asked, voice casual as he set aside the cloth to better inspect the wound. It didn’t look like it would need stitches, but the bruising around it worried him some and he pressed his fingers to it firmly but gently, eliciting a hiss of pain from Peter. He was relieved to find nothing moving, though, so he suspected likely just severe bruising to the ribs. He dropped the soiled rag into the sink before reaching for the ace wrap in the open first aid kit. Peter still wasn’t looking at him, but Egon could see his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “His name was Brett. I met him a few weeks ago when I was out getting sandwiches for lunch.” He paused, shoulders tense like he was waiting on Egon to say something, to judge him, but the blond just nodded for him to continue before starting to wrap the long bandage around the other man’s torso, adding a bit of gauze wherever he encountered a wound likely to bleed.

 

“We’d gone out a few times here and there, usually just dinner or to the bar for a game and a couple beers, but yesterday he invited me back to his place. Told me he had just gotten his hands on a ‘78 Pontiac Firebird in pristine condition and wanted to show me. When I got there he offered me a beer and took me out into the garage. We looked at the car for a while and he told me about the things that made this model so unique. By the time we were going back into the house, I’d already downed my bottle…” Peter swallowed again, harder this time, and Egon paused to look up at his face; shocked to see the man looking pale and drawn, almost terrified. “I think he must have slipped something into it, because I’d planned on coming on back to the firehouse after, but I couldn’t keep my feet under me. I’m no lush, but I’m no newbie either, and I know it usually takes about four before I start seeing double. I was seeing triple by the time we got back to the kitchen, and he’d taken to slinging my arm over his shoulders to help me stay on my feet. He helped me over to the couch and… the next thing I know it’s one AM and I’m naked in his bed feeling like I’d been hit by a truck and he’s snoring away beside me like it was the most natural thing.”

 

Peter had to stop and take a shaky breath, and Egon was ready to tell him he didn’t have to keep going, but the brunet held up a hand. “I quickly found my clothes and left. I couldn’t find my wallet right away, and I didn’t want to leave without it, so I started searching under the couch and between the cushions.” Scared dark eyes met his. “I wasn’t the first, Egon. I found my wallet under the couch, but I found another one a little farther back, and one between the cushions. I got out of there as soon as I could and managed to flag down a cab. Got them to take me to the hospital to get a kit done. I told them about the others, and the cops said they’d look into it, and when they let me go the cabs weren’t running anymore so I walked back here.” 

 

“You walked all the way back from the hospital at two in the morning? Peter, why didn’t you just ask one of the police officers for a ride? Or call here? One of us could have come picked you up.” But Peter was shaking his head before Egon had even finished. “I didn’t want you guys to know. Besides, the way I was looking, who was going to mess with me anyway? Strung out and disheveled, I’m sure the cop at the hospital had to give out my description to the patrol so I wouldn’t get arrested for drugs. Besides, all I want to do is forget I ever even met him. It’s bad enough I can’t remember what he did do me, what he may have made me do, I didn’t want to have to explain to the rest of you that I was interested in guys, or that I’d evidently slept with one.” Tears were forming in Peter’s eyes and he made to hastilly wipe them away, but Egon caught his hand, gently touching his jaw until the shorter man was looking at him. “Peter, do you really think so little of us? We’re your teammates. We don’t care who you’re interested in, just so long as you care about them and you stay safe. I’m glad you told me.” The sincerity in Egon’s voice coupled with pain and exhaustion must have been the last straw for Peter, because the next thing Egon knew he had his arms full of a broken, sobbing psychologist who was clinging to Egon’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence. 

 

“Shh, it’s okay Peter. It’s over now. You’d done the right thing and now the police have their job to do. It’s okay…” They stood there for what seemed like hours, Egon rubbing circles into Peter’s marked up back while the man cried out his frustrations until finally the sobs started to die down and the brunet was able to take a step back, rubbing at his swollen red eyes. “Ya know, Spengs? The worst part wasn’t even the rape. The worst part was that it was my first time.” He let out a choked laugh, muffled by a stuffy nose but with no humor behind it. “Can’t even remember my first time. How Senior Prom is that, huh?” Egon’s eyes widened. “Wait, Peter, that was your first time? Like, in general?” The brunet shook his head, offering him a smile that didn’t fully meet his eyes, but with a lift that hinted it might have had he not been going through his own personal hell. “Nah, Spengs. All those girls I dated in college? No way was it my  _ first  _ first time.” He hiccuped softly, still holding Egon’s gaze as though the moment he blinked the blond was going to disappear. Thoughts were racing through Egon’s head at a mile a minute as he stared at the man, trying to decide what his next move should be. Mind made up, he took a step closer to Peter, catching the slight tremble in his shoulders as he did so. “Did the hospital check you out? Give you any medication, or anything?”

 

Peter shook his head. “They went ahead and treated me for STIs and STDs, and gave me some ointment for the bruises, but other than that not much else.” A flush crept up the man’s cheeks and he averted his gaze. “Nothing’s torn, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Egon nodded in relief. Before his mom had met his dad, she’d been a nurse. When Egon was growing up she’d tell him cautionary tales of people who’d been brought into the hospital for one reason or another. “Peter, will you let me check? Just to make sure nothing happened during the fall?” the psychologist’s face was so red he resembled Ray the day they’d been dealing with a UV ghost. The ginger had gotten sunburned and looked like a peeling tomato for nearly a week before it cleared up. “Egon, really. I’m okay. Just bruised is all.” Egon cocked an unimpressed eyebrow and turned his focus to the bandaged torso before him. “Yes, Peter. Like it was just a bruise after the ghost threw you down the stairs earlier today.” The other man had the decency to look away sheepishly. “Peter, please. I know I’ve told you my mother was a nurse. She taught me a thing or two about what can happen. I know you said they checked you over at the hospital, but to them you’re just another victim in off the streets. I noticed you limping earlier. Please let me make sure for myself that you’re okay.”

 

His friend was silent for a long time, and Egon thought he may have stepped over a line, but then he sighed and nodded, hands coming to the waistband of his jeans. “Alright, Spengs. To appease that big worrying brain of yours. But ya know, there are easier ways of getting a guy to drop his pants than playing the concern card.” He tried to offer a cocky grin, but it and the joke fell flat in light of the reason he hadn’t wanted to take his pants off in front of Egon in the first place. As the material fell to the ground, the bruises clustered around his hips, knees, and ankles becoming starkly visible. Including the handprints near his groin. He felt more exposed than he ever had in his entire life, hands automatically coming forward to try and hide himself, only to be arrested mid-motion by a pair of nimble fingered calloused ones. “Peter…” Egon’s voice was as soft as the grip he had on his wrists, telling him without words that he could pull away any time he wanted and the blond wouldn’t resist. Egon was giving Peter his power back. He watched, adam’s apple bobbing as Egon rinsed and rewet the cloth in the sink with warm water before turning and sinking to his knees.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe. The man he’d known since college was on his knees in front of him, gently tracing his bruises like a blind man reading braille. Picking back up the washcloth, he carefully rubbed it against Peter’s skin, setting him on fire despite the feather light touch. Egon was meticulous, making sure to get every inch of Peter’s lower extremities but never lingering for more than a second, even as he paused to examine scratches Peter hadn’t even been aware of having. He hissed as the washcloth discovered a particularly deep one just behind his left knee, and Egon paused, setting the cloth to the side and rotating Peter’s leg just slightly to get a better look at it. “It’s just a scrape,” he commented, glancing up at Peter from beneath his large blond curl. “It’s a bit long, but it isn’t bleeding; just at a weird location.” The brunet swallowed hard, nodding in response before looking away. The image before him was making things stir inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time, and couldn’t have come at a worse moment. 

 

With one last swipe to the still raw ring around his ankle, Egon reached back and tossed the cloth back into the sink, but he didn’t rise back to his feet right away. Instead, he lifted a hand, aligning his much narrower fingers with those of the deep purple handprint on Peter’s thigh. The man shuddered at the touch, drawing a concerned look from the blond. “Does it still hurt?” Peter shook his head, blush creeping across his cheeks. “No, no” he mumbled. “It doesn’t hurt when you touch it.” Egon nodded, a miniscule smirk curling the corners of his lips. “Does it hurt when I do this?” Before Peter’s brain could process the enigmatic question, Egon was leaning forward, pressing his lips to the center of the handprint. After that, he couldn’t think at all. His mind was completely blank, unable to process the visual input it was receiving. There was no way the brilliant Egon Spengler, the one most of their graduating class had been sure was incapable of real human emotions, the very one Peter had dreamed of more than once those first few years before forcibly shoving them away into the darkest parts of his brain was pressing his lips to Peter’s skin; so close Peter could feel his hot breath ghosting against his over sensitive skin. 

 

Pulling back just slightly, the blond didn’t even spare the upright man a glance before shifting to the matching bruise on his other thigh, pressing his lips again in a soft kiss against the mottled flesh. The action brushed his blond curl against the inside of Peter’s thighs, drawing a sharp whine from his mouth as he fought to stay upright. Attention drawn by the sound, Egon glanced up; blue eyes full of concern but mouth quirked up in amusement at the corners. “You okay, Peter?” the brunet shook his head, another half strangled noise escaping his mouth. “I’m dreaming,” he croaked, eyes falling shut. “There’s no way this can possibly be real.” There was the sound of shifting fabric before a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist and warm air brushed his ear, sending a shiver down his spine and heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Do you want this to be a dream?” a husky voice whispered. Something stirred between Peter’s legs and he shook his head furiously. “No, gods no. Please don’t let me be dreaming.” the husky voice chuckled before replying. “Open your eyes, Peter.” Unable to resist, he did. What awaited him when he did nearly stopped his heart. Egon’s face was mere inches away from his, full lips curled up in a promising smile while intelligent blue eyes seemed to peer into his soul, extracting every fantasy Peter had ever had featuring the specimen before him. “I love you, Peter Venkman.”

 

Peter was dead. He had to be. The fall down the stairs had managed to rupture something vital and now he was dead. That was the only logical explanation his brain could supply as to why he’d just heard those five words coming out of his blond best friend’s mouth. “I love you, Peter.” Nope, he wasn’t dead then. If he were dead then Egon wouldn’t still be fully clothed, and Peter wouldn’t be able to feel the raw soreness spreading through his body from two days worth of injuries. “I love you too,” he breathed, letting his weight fall against the taller man. There was that smile again, getting closer and closer until it was pressed against his own chapped lips. Peter’s knees collapsed, strong arms keeping him from becoming one with the floor as his eyelids slid shut and he dissolved into the sensation. There was a soft keening noise in his ears, and it took him longer than it should have to realize the noise was coming from him. He didn’t care. Egon was kissing him and his brain had ceased proper functioning. 

 

Without ever breaking the kiss, Egon slid one arm down Peter’s side and swept the brunet into his arms, somehow managing to get the door open and carrying him out into the bedroom while never removing his mouth from the heated kiss. Peter would have been impressed had his brains not been in the process of leaving through his ears. His swelling member pressed against Egon as the blond lowered him down onto his bed and crawled on top of him. He glanced down at the nearly erect muscle between Peter’s legs, and then back up at the blushing man with a sly smirk. “Need a hand with your… situation, Dr. Venkman?” Peter could only nod, eyes unable to look away as nimble fingers briefly traced bruises he’d actually managed to forget about for the first time all day before wrapping around his external organ, bringing it to full attention with just a touch and offering an experimental pull. The brunet was too far gone to be embarrassed about how easily the motion drew a whine from his mouth. There was no way he was going to last long. 

 

Egon worked him slow and lazily, leaving a trail of fiery kisses across his cheek and down his neck. Even with the languid attention, Peter felt himself being pulled closer and closer to the brink with every tug of those long, calloused fingers; fingers he’d watched with envy as they worked over the delicate wiring of whatever latest invention the scientist was creating. Something hot and wet latched onto his left nipple and sucked, setting Peter’s entire body on fire and had it not been for Egon’s weight above him he could have come right off the bed all together. Part of him wished he could remember just what Brett had done to him, but he no longer cared; nothing would have felt better than what Egon was doing to him right now with just a hand and his tongue. The delicious fire was gathering in the pit of his belly, drawing itself up tight. “Eg…” he tried to choke out a warning, but the blue eyed man just grinned, surging upward to capture Peter’s lips with his, swallowing the brunet’s cry as sticky heat coated his fist and the skin between them. 

 

Peter lay there panting, every muscle in his body lax to the point that even if he’d wanted to he couldn’t have moved. He watched the blond man climb off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom only to reappear a moment later with a clean, damp washcloth which he used to wipe down the prone man, taking care around the bandages and bruises. Tossing it into the hamper when he was done, Egon quickly stripped out of his own soiled shirt and slacks, exchanging them for a t-shirt and borrowed sweats, pulling out extras which he carefully manipulated the brunet psychologist into. Peter’s eyes were heavy as he watched his friend moving around, tossing dirty clothes and used clothes into the hamper before finally returning to the bed, tugging the rumpled sheets out from under Peter before climbing into the bed with him and pulling the blankets up over them. He was mindful of the brunet’s injuries as he tugged the near-dead weight closer, wrapping him in his arms. “Mmm…” Peter hummed, burrowing closer and breathing in the scent of chalk and electricity. “L’v ya, Spengs…” he muttered, breath evening out as he drifted, safe in the arms of the man who’d had his heart for years. Before he was completely out, he felt the press of lips into the top of his head and a soft “I love you too, Pete,” and then he was out.

  
  



End file.
